


you've been lonely too long

by andibeth82



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/M, Road Trips, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I texted –”</p><p>“Yeah, you texted me.” He pauses, fishing a rather beat-up smartphone out of his pocket. “Interstate 80 gas station at welcome centr. Got d9g and you beter bp hre dumbassk. Or whatever that means.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've been lonely too long

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



> Some time ago, while chatting with **geckoholic** about all the terrible overwhelming feelings regarding Hawkeye Squared, I promised that I'd write her some porn, which then of course my brain (being my brain) took to mean "quickie bathroom sex while Kate is on the way home from LA," a plot bunny that she only encouraged. I'm a bit late, but I'm keeping my promise, and I consider it my gift to her for being my sounding board and hand-holder in fandom more often than not.
> 
> (Set after Hawkeye 20. In a perfect world, this would have been written sooner, but since there was no way anything like this was happening in the comic, I don't think it matters.) With thanks to **scribblemyname** for being amazing and coming through with beta. Title from The Civil Wars.

By the time Kate reaches Pennsylvania, she’s finished a 40 ounce cherry Slurpee, has gone through both discs of Vivaldi, has successfully talked herself out of two speeding tickets in both Nevada and Oklahoma – and she really, _really_ has to pee.

She pulls into the gas station on the side of the highway, barely stopping to make sure the car is parked within the lines before bolting from the driver’s seat, praying to some god above that the dingy, dirty restroom with the half-broken lock isn’t otherwise occupied. (Yells a somewhat-too-loud _thank you_ when she pulls the door open and finds vacancy.) She’s left Lucky in the car and is pretty sure any other person would probably be more concerned about that fact, except she’s firmly aware that if anything, the dog will find her before any apparent harm can come to him.

Hell, Lucky could outrun the entire damn Tracksuit Mafia if he wanted to.

She finishes her business and pulls her pants up loosely, shoving her hands underneath the barely running faucet as the door bangs open behind her. It’s a terrifyingly loud, abrasive sound and she startles, jumping back while water sprays over her shirt from wet, flailing fingers.

“Hey, Katie-Kate.”

Kate lets out a long breath and tries to stop her heart from beating out of her chest. “Jesus Christ.”

“Nice greeting,” Clint says dryly as he kicks the door closed with one foot. Kate glares, her body still on edge.

“I texted –”

“Yeah, you texted me.” He pauses, fishing a rather beat-up smartphone out of his pocket. “ _Interstate 80 gas station at welcome centr. Got d9g and you beter bp hre dumbassk_. Or whatever that means.”

“I don’t know, maybe I was trying to see if you were still smart enough to figure out text speak,” she says, folding her arms in front of her chest. Clint sighs.

“I get it, okay? You didn’t think I would come.”

“The man who walked out on me because he was a sad sack who couldn’t handle his own problems? Fuck no, I didn’t think you would come.” She’s spitting out words like they’re daggers, raising her voice, and she hates it, because she’s missed him so much but she’s also so _angry_ , she’s angry that she left and she’s angry that she worried and she’s angry that he was the one who brought all of those feelings on her in the first place.

“I’m sorry.”

“You fucking better be sorry,” she all but scowls and Clint looks embarrassed, bowing his head and rubbing a palm against the back of his neck as he leans against the dirty wall.

“I didn’t wanna – I mean – what I’m trying to say is –” and he sounds so lost that Kate suddenly can’t stand it.

“Oh for god’s sake, Barton. Shut up.”

He does, and not just because she steps forward, grabbing him and pulling him in for a kiss, her fingers raking through the short spikes of his hair. Clint moans as she drags her towards him, moving her hands down his back, taking notice of the way his body shudders against her own.

“You should get angry with me more often,” he mumbles when she pulls their lips apart, sucking in air.

She doesn’t respond but instead rolls her head to the side, taking the time to study him. He’s got more lines on his face than he did when she had left, an observation which causes a small pain in the pit of her stomach. As much as she had been angry, she hadn’t really wanted his life to go to shit in the way she figures it probably has. His hair is longer, overgrown in the front and shaggier than the floppiness she’s always been drawn to, and then – because Kate is Kate and doesn’t miss anything – there’s dried blood on the side of his right ear.

“This is –”

Clint’s cut off again when she slams him up against the wall, her hands on his shoulders. It’s been long enough, she decides, and this time he responds the way she expects, his tongue dueling with hers almost furiously. Kate smiles into his mouth, partially because she can’t help it and partially because, well. It was taboo, in a way, this whole thing. In technical terms, he was her partner, her mentor, the person that would throw himself out of a burning building if it was warranted. Still, that didn’t mean Kate hadn’t taken to finding him attractive on more than one occasion, certainly not from watching him sleep on the nights when he passed out while they watched TV together, and _certainly_ not from the moments in which she ran into him coming out of the bathroom stark naked, because Clint, for all his marksman smarts, just never had the sense to assume anyone would bother to be in his apartment without telling him.

And, well. Kate considers herself the epitome of taking taboo by the horns and riding it out, pun intended. She’s let herself get fucked over too many times to worry about not giving into something just because it didn’t seem _right_. Clint had come here of his own accord, and Kate knows that he’s got every right to stop this whole thing if he doesn’t want it.

And she knows by the way he’s currently working his hands down her pants, digging his fingers up her cunt, that he does.

Kate grabs for his jeans, undoing the mess of buttons and pulling them down until she can retaliate, jerking him off in a way that causes his fingers to curl and twist harder inside her. She curses loudly before catching herself, speeding up her movements, her palms slipping over the precome that’s pooling at his head. She knows at this point she has to be as wet as he is, and the intensity in which he’s rubbing her only confirms her suspicions. Kate lets go of Clint’s cock long enough to rip his tee shirt over his head, and then follows suit with her own shirt and bra as he rubs at a particularly sensitive area, causing her to stumble, her forehead coming to rest on his ribcage.

“Jesus, Katie-Kate,” and pressed against his skin she can hear the sharp breathing, the low rumble of his voice that bleeds into her own body like an earthquake spreading across a wide terrain. He withdraws his hand and sticks the fingers that were just inside of her in his own mouth, sucking on them lightly before running them over her shoulders, pushing her back just slightly so he can reach down and tease her nipples. The entire sequence causes Kate to fight back a moan; she figures she’ll never tell him how many times she’s watched him shoot and thought about how his fingers could work in _other_ ways, and half wonders if, based on the way he’s touching her, he’s already figured that out.

Archer hands. It had to be fucking _archer hands_.

“Never thought you’d fuck your protégée, huh?” Clint asks breathlessly as he pulls away so that he can reach inside the pocket of his discarded pants for a condom. He tears the wrapper cleanly, shoving the rubber protection onto his cock with lightning speed.

“Not your protégée,” Kate says, sliding into him once the condom is covering what it can, because she knows Clint’s bigger than he would probably like to be and, hell, she’s perfectly fine with that. “Do not love you, by the way.”

“But this is fun, yeah?” Clint asks gruffly as he starts to move inside her; he’s got her balanced mostly on his thighs and he’s doing most of the heavy lifting as he thrusts. Kate thinks she should maybe feel bad about that, but, well. Height differences had never _not_ worked to their advantage.

“Not fun,” Kate says mischievously, digging her nails into his back as he pushes over and over again at the orgasm that’s barely keeping itself contained. She comes on the third hard thrust, waves of pleasure curling throughout her stomach and he groans loudly; the moment she feels his cock tighten and then relax inside her she knows that he’s been waiting, keeping himself in check for however long so that they could come together.

“Fuck,” Clint mutters again, sliding out of her and Kate pushes back against the opposite wall on shaky legs, wiping her mouth. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s accurate,” Kate says, staring at the condom that’s gone limp, the mess of semen safely collected inside. She inhales slowly, trying to balance herself, attempting to get her breathing back under control, and god, she’s fucking _missed_ him, stupid issues and all.

“Wash yourself up, will you? This place is kind of super gross.”

Clint gives her a half grin as he moves to the small sink and splashes water over his face, grabbing a couple of paper towels to clean himself as drops the used condom in the trashcan.

“Not the nicest place I’ve ever had sex. But not the worst, either.”

“If this isn’t the worst,” and Kate gestures to the rotting walls and filthy floors, “then I absolutely do not want to know where else you’ve fucked.”

Clint smiles widely. “No, Katie-Kate. No, you do not.”

She re-dresses quickly, only half-caring that her clothes are now about as disgusting as the people who have probably peed or vomited (or done both) on the floor they’ve just stood barefoot on for the past fifteen minutes. She tries not to think about the next time she can manage an appropriate shower (four hours, provided she speeds and they don’t hit traffic on the goddamn expressway) and when they’re fully clothed again, Kate unlocks the door, squinting through a cracked opening before stepping outside. Thankfully, the area is still mostly deserted.

“Christ,” Clint mutters, bringing a hand up and over his face as the sun hits his eyes. Kate shakes her head, walking back towards the car.

“Aw, hey, you _did_ bring my dog,” Clint says as he pulls up the rear, and Lucky practically vaults out of the convertible, making a beeline for Clint’s arms. Kate can’t help the smile that tugs at her face as the dog more or less attacks him senseless.

“So where’s your car?” she asks finally as she grabs her sunglasses from inside the dashboard, peering around the otherwise empty parking lot. Clint shrugs, waving his hand.

“Train. Bus. Caught a hitchhiker for the last half of it. I was pretty sure he was gonna kill me, but he bought me Subway at a truck stop in New Jersey and I didn’t die. At least, not yet. I think he just had an angry resting face and listened to a lot of metal.”

“You’re terrible,” Kate points out, leaning against the car as Lucky turns his attention, seemingly bored of giving his actual owner an overdue welcome. She ruffles the thick fur around the dog’s neck.

“Only half as terrible as you, Hawkeye. I didn’t drag you out in the middle of nowhere just so I could fuck you as an apology for being an asshole.”

“Mmmm.” Kate considers this, tapping one foot against the ground, shivering slightly in the warm sun as she remembers the way it had felt to be a part of his orgasm. “True. But it worked, didn’t it?”

Clint looks up, a slightly self-conscious look shadowing his face, and then smiles brokenly.  “Yeah. It kinda did.”

Kate matches his smile, shoving Lucky’s head away as she reaches for the car door, tossing Clint a set of keys adorned with a horribly sequined purple charm. He dangles them curiously, and the violet sparkles, glinting in the sunlight.

“Idaho?”

“California, actually. I had to buy it in order to get the credit card limit on my free taco.”

“Good to know you don’t change, Katie.”

Something warm runs through her stomach at the way her voice rolls over her name. _Katie_. Not Kate, not other Hawkeye, but Katie – his partner, his friend, the person who knows what kind of topping she likes on her pizza, or just how much to fill her coffee cup in the morning so she doesn’t waste anything by not having enough time to finish, or what Dog Cops episodes are the best one to watch when suggesting a marathon. She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and slides her sunglasses over her face, reaching forward for the keys again.

“Come on, Hawkeye.” (And goddamn, she’s really missed him.) “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me and my thoughts on [tumblr](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com) if you're so inclined.


End file.
